Nothing but Fireworks
by Bluemoonalto
Summary: The aftermath of an overshadow, a friendship nearly broken.  Can Tucker forgive Danny for what he did?
1. Chapter 1

fire • works: _n_** 1** a device for producing a striking display by the combustion of explosive or flammable compositions ** 2** a display of fireworks ** 3** a display of temper or intense conflict

** Nothing But Fireworks**  
by: Bluemoonalto

Tucker realized that there would be repercussions, but he wasn't prepared to deal with them that particular Saturday morning. He'd slept until nearly eleven, dragged himself out of bed and headed groggily to the Nasty Burger for the breakfast of champions: a double-bacon cheeseburger with extra Nasty Sauce, washed down with cherry cola. And he almost made it, too—but as luck would have it, Valerie Gray was at that moment drowning her sorrows in a double mocha half-caff soy latte with whipped cream and extra sprinkles. And a glazed jelly-filled donut on the side. After all, it takes a lot of comfort food to compensate for getting stood up by your emergency back-up date on the night of your very first high school dance.

The thing is, Café Caffeine is just around the corner from the Nasty Burger. And Tucker may very well have the world's worst timing, so naturally he managed to pass by just as Valerie emerged from the café in the throes of a sugar/caffeine high. She was stoked, she was buzzed, and she was _angry_.

"Uh. . . Valerie!" Suddenly Tucker's mind spun through a fast rewind of the previous night. He had returned the Amulet of Aragon to its rightful owner while Danny and Sam shared the last dance of the night. Before that he had run herd over Mr. and Mrs. Fenton while Danny fought the dragon. Before that, he had been surprised by the level of Sam's enthusiasm as they ran together toward the school. Before that. . . .

_Whoa._

Before that, Valerie had been expecting him to show up with a corsage. Before that, he had a _date_.

"Do you know how long I waited?" she purred.

"I. . . I. . . . I can explain." Well no, he couldn't. He couldn't explain THIS. Panic set in as he watched Valerie's face cloud over with irritation and disbelief. She was judging him already, before he could even begin to speak. And he couldn't even begin to speak because he didn't have a clue what to say. It would have been better if she had yelled. It would have been easier if she had just slapped him, or stormed off in a huff. But she was a girl, and if Tucker had learned anything about girls from Sam's passive 'who cares about the stupid dance' behavior over the last few days, it was that a girl could communicate a lot about what she was thinking by not expressing what she was thinking.

"Do you know how much time I spent getting ready?"

Tucker's mind raced. Obviously he couldn't tell her the truth, that his body had been taken over by a ghost and forced to take another girl to the dance instead. Not that he had tried to set things straight once he was back in control of his body, but it's not like it was his idea in the first place. Just the opposite, in fact. As far as he had been concerned, Sam had dug her own hole by playing snooty and indifferent all week. If he had known she wanted to go to the dance, he would have asked her in the first place and avoided all the endless humiliation!

"Would you care to explain where you were last night?" Val's smoky voice was sly and calm, her face a mild sea of reasonable curiosity. She was smiling, a thin, plastic smile with just a hint of teeth.

"L— last night?"_ Oh, smooth. _He had stammered his way into an opening, maybe not the best one but his mind was not exactly brimming over with plausible excuses. "The dance was_ last _ night? I thought it was tonight!"

That seemed to catch her off-guard. She opened her mouth, as if she were going to say something, then closed it again. Then she frowned, tilting her head to one side and staring into the distance as if she were processing what he had just said.

Tucker couldn't stand the silence, so he started babbling. "Oh my God, you mean I missed it? It was_ last night_? This is terrible! I was really, really, really looking forward to our date and I had even bought a new suit and. . . I don't believe this! I was playing this on-line Doomed marathon, and I just. . . . Are you_ sure_ the dance was last night?"

Valerie had remained in an attitude of silent astonishment throughout his outburst, and even after he ran out of gas she just stood there quietly, staring at him as though he were just an insect pinned to a display card. Finally she wrinkled her nose and sneered, "You are such a complete dork! I'm glad you didn't show up, because if you had then I might have actually had to dance with you." She brushed past him and began to walk away, adding airily, "Thank you so much for sparing me the embarrassment of being seen with you!"

As she marched away, Tucker couldn't help but notice the way her long, wavy hair bounced with each step, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the way she filled out her tight-fitting jeans. Valerie could have been his date— no, Valerie_ had _ been his date. He should have been dancing with her last night, not running around after Danny's dad and watching his two best friends dance with each other while he ended up alone. And when was he ever going to get another chance like that?

If there is any boy on the planet who has worse timing that Tucker Foley, it's Danny Fenton. And it was just his bad luck that he was also headed toward the Nasty Burger at that particular moment on that particular Saturday morning, approaching Tucker from behind just as Tucker's imagination raced and his frustration boiled over.

"Hey, Tuck!" Danny's voice was relaxed, almost jaunty. "Who was that?"

Tucker just stood there with his back to his best friend, watching Valerie turn the corner and disappear behind a tall hedge. He flushed and gritted his teeth, suddenly overwhelmed with resentment toward the one person who had put him in this situation, turning, slowly, deliberately, to glare at his friend. "It was Valerie. Do you remember Valerie?"

"Of course I remember—oh. I guess she was a little ticked off?"

Danny was trying to sound apologetic, but at that point Tucker was no longer listening. He was flashing back to the night before, the moment when Danny turned on him. He was reliving the experience of seeing his best friend invade his body, seizing absolute control from the inside. He was remembering that feeling of utter vulnerability and violation as he realized that there was nothing—absolutely nothing—he could do to defend himself.

"What did you say?"

"Was Valerie mad about last night?"

"You _think_?" Tucker could barely channel his resentment into bitter sarcasm. "Here's a news flash for you: She's not the only one who's mad about last night."

"What are you talking. . . ?" Danny paused; the nuance of Tucker's hard expression, his thin, strained voice, seemed to finally sink in. "Are _you_ mad at me?"

Tucker couldn't quite figure out where to start. He stalked off toward the Nasty Burger, Danny following along behind.

"Wait a minute, Tuck! If you're mad at me, at least talk to me. Look—I'm sorry you had to break your date with Valerie. Okay? Just talk to me!"

As they reached the alley that ran around the back side of the restaurant, Tucker grabbed Danny's arm and hauled him back toward the dumpsters. Danny stumbled along behind, and as soon as they were out of sight of the street Tucker shoved him up against the wall.

"You used me! You took me over and forced me to do something I didn't want to do, and I was helpless. Totally helpless! Do you have any idea what that feels like? No, of course you don't. You're the one with the ghost powers. You're the one who can just play games with my body any time you get a whim, and I there's nothing I can do to stop you."

"I wouldn't do that! I— Tucker, I totally wouldn't do that! I mean, it's not like I made you rob a bank or hurt somebody or run naked through the streets or anything like that. Okay, so I made you take Sam to the dance. And yeah, okay, so Valerie got stood up. What's the harm in that? She's a jerky snob, and Sam's our best friend!"

"Yeah. Well, I thought I was your best friend, too."

"And you are! Since forever! But seriously, you are blowing this way, way out of proportion."

"Did you hear me say 'no'? Did you understand what it meant when I said 'no'? Does the word 'no' not apply to you any more?"

"I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't think! You didn't think about how your actions would affect anybody else. Do you remember all that stuff your dad told us about ghosts? Do you remember that one of the natural characteristics of a ghost is a casual indifference toward human beings?"

"Tucker—"

"Well, take a look in the mirror, dude!"

That shut him up. Danny just stared, dumfounded, his mouth hanging open.

"You better start thinking hard about this, Danny. You better start figuring out what's a justifiable use of those powers of yours, while you still have two friends left. And here's rule number one: you don't use your powers on ME!"

With that, Tucker turned and began to walk away. Danny followed, reaching out to grab him by the shoulder. Tucker shrugged his shoulder away from Danny's grasp, spun around and abruptly lashed out with a shove to Danny's chest that knocked him to the ground. For a long moment, a moment that seemed to stretch out for a small eternity, the two friends stared at each other.

"Tucker, I'm—"

"Don't! Don't talk to me. Just. . . don't talk to me!" With that, Tucker ran down the alley and out to the street, having suddenly lost all interest in breakfast. He didn't even see Sam as he passed her outside the restaurant.

"Tucker?"

Sam watched, astonished, as her friend ran as though chased by demons, but he never slowed down. As she stared into the distance, Danny emerged from the alley behind her, rubbing his left hip and limping slightly. "Hey there, Sam."

"Danny! Are you okay?" Sam ran up to him, concerned. "Was there a ghost?"

"No, no ghost. I just— I just fell down. No big deal."

Sam fell in beside him and slipped her arm around his waist to offer some support. "Here, let me help."

Danny put his arm across her shoulder and allowed her to take just a little of his weight as they walked toward the restaurant's entrance. He smiled as he realized how well they fit together, how she was just tall enough to offer real support. Her close presence reminded him of their one, ethereal dance. They squeezed through the door into the restaurant and sat down at the first booth; strangely, neither one of them seemed particularly interested in getting any food.

"Danny?"

"Hmmm?"

Sam chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I think Tucker may be mad at me."

"What makes you think— I mean, why would he be mad at_ you_? You didn't do anything to him."

"Well, you know, first he got stood up by Valerie, and then after we finished with old Paulina Dragon I asked you to dance instead of him. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time and I'm so grateful you flew me home after, but Tucker's the one who bothered to ask me in the first place."

"He's not—" Danny paused. Tucker may not have been the one to actually extend the invitation, and if he had gotten his way, Sam would have stayed home, but under the circumstances Tucker might as well get the credit. Danny reached out and clasped Sam's hands across the table. "Tucker's not mad at you, Sam. Believe me, I know what he's upset about and it has nothing to do with you."

There was a tingle where their hands touched, and Danny felt a flood of warmth wash across his face and a delightful frisson down his spine. Caught up in this new, exciting sensation, he completely lost his train of thought and narrowed his focus to the touch of hand to hand, and the vivid memory of the dance—and suddenly he could see nothing but fireworks.

_Author's Note:_ This fic was inspired by the unlikely coincidence of two seemingly unrelated events. The first was the rapidly impending deadline of a fic contest with the theme of "fireworks"; I had idly wondered whether anybody was going to explore the word's "angry outburst" connotation, but had no intention of trying to write an entry myself. The second was the rapid-fire airing of five new _Danny Phantom_ episodes during the week of July 9 through 13. Discouraged by the low quality of the writing in these third season episodes, I cued up a tape of older episodes that Saturday evening to refresh my memory of what made me love this series in the first place. As it happens, the first episode on the tape was _Parental Bonding_, and the scene of Danny overshadowing Tucker despite Tucker's having said 'no' four times kick-started the inspiration.

This is the whole fic. Obviously, Tucker and Danny must have made up some time after this conversation, but my desire was to describe the fireworks, not the sunshine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Danny?"

"Mmmmm."

"Uh, Danny?" Sam's voice was light and tinged with wry humor. "Earth to Danny..."

"Mmmmm?"

"Can I have my hands back? I might need them some time today."

Danny shook himself out of his reverie and looked down at the table, abruptly realizing that he had been squeezing Sam's hands tightly, as though clinging to a lifeline. He let her go and she shook her hands gently in the air, wiggling her fingers to get the circulation back. She shook her head, bemused by his dazed expression.

"Uh, you want to split an order of spicy fries?" she asked. "I'm buying."

That got his attention. Fiery hot french fries, seasoned with cayenne, chili powder and red pepper flakes, were a recent addition to the Nasty Burger's menu, and Sam knew from experience that the best way to get a teenage boy's attention was to offer him food. Danny reached for his wallet and pulled out a couple of dollars. "Get me a large soda, okay? Extra ice."

"Anything else, m'Lord? Lobster? Swiss chocolates? Caviar?" They both laughed; it was an old joke among the three of them.

The three of them. _Tucker_. While Sam was up getting their food, Danny had plenty of time to think again about the argument. Which wasn't much of an argument, really—Tucker had yelled, and Danny had stood there and took it. Until Tuck knocked him down, that is, at which point he had just sat there and took it. Danny was feeling defensive and resentful about the whole encounter, but he couldn't quite shake what his friend had said.

"_Do you remember that one of the natural characteristics of a ghost is a casual indifference toward human beings? Well, take a look in the mirror, dude!" _

What was it that Tucker had seen that Danny had missed? He hadn't really started acting like a real ghost, had he? Striving tirelessly toward some irrational obsession, indifferent to the welfare of the living creatures who stood in his way... how could he even say such a thing? Danny was only trying to protect human beings from ghosts; that could hardly be called 'casual indifference.' And he was totally in tune with the people around him! He needed to have both of his friends at the dance to help defeat the dragon. And of course he had to bring Paulina to the dance—she was too dangerous to leave wandering about under the influence of the amulet, and getting stood up would probably make her angry enough to trigger another transmutation into dragon form. Everything he had done was perfectly reasonable and perfectly justifiable.

What he needed was some perspective. And wouldn't you know it, there was perspective herself, walking back toward the table with a basket of spicy fries and two sodas.

They munched on their fries for several minutes before Sam finally broke the awkward silence. "So... are you going to tell me what's got Tucker's shorts in a twist, or will I have to squeeze it out of him?"

"Um... "

"Come on, Danny. He's obviously upset about something. And he's our best friend. So spill!"

Danny took a long, slow drink from his soda, trying to think of the right way to explain without betraying Tucker's trust even further. Sam sat there silently, being quite familiar with Danny's procrastination techniques. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he put down the drink and then rubbed the back of his neck. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Do you think I've changed?"

"Is that what this is about?" Sam was dubious.

"In a roundabout way... yes." Danny picked up a handful of fries and popped them in his mouth, using the time spent chewing and swallowing to refine his approach. Then he paused a moment longer to take a gulp of soda. "Has this whole ghost thing... changed me? Made me, like, a different person?"

Now it was Sam's turn to use the spicy fry delaying tactic. She stared at Danny silently as she chewed, thinking back on the last few weeks as she contemplated her answer. Finally she said quietly, "Yes. I think you have changed, in some ways. You're, uh... bolder, more assertive. I mean—well, we didn't have a ghost problem before the accident, but I still can't imagine the old you running out from a crowd of people in the middle of an emergency and being all, like, 'Stand back, everybody, I'll take care of this!'"

"But that's because I know what to do!" Startled by his own outburst, he glanced around sheepishly and quickly lowered his voice. "When there's a ghost, I know I'm the only person who can fight back. I'm the best person for the job."

"Well, of course you are! So that makes sense. But you asked if you had changed—and the answer is, you have. Like, I can't imagine you, the old you, ordering me and Tucker around like you did yesterday. 'Find Paulina! Keep an eye on my dad! What's taking you so long with the research?' You can be really bossy, sometimes. But that's just the way it's gonna be from now on. Can't be helped."

Danny had no answer for that. He just sat there quietly, popping one fry after another into his mouth. Sam picked up a handful from the basket and put them aside on a napkin, just so she'd be able to keep a share of the rapidly dwindling supply for herself.

"So what does this have to do with Tucker's lousy mood?"

Danny paused in his assault on the spicy fry supply and took a long pull from his soda. "Tucker's mad at me."

"At _you_? Why? What happened?" Sam's voice was warm with concern, but she was clearly baffled.

"You know that new thing I learned how to do? How I can..." He leaned forward, lowering his voice even more, "…how I can take over a person from the inside?"

Sam leaned forward and whispered, "Yes...?"

Danny swallowed nervously and continued,_ sotto voce_, "I did that to Tucker."

"No. No you _didn't_!" Sam kept her voice low, but her consternation was palpable.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Wow." Her eyes grew wide. "But... why?"

"I—" Danny hesitated, knowing that he was dancing on thin ice. "I can't... I can't really explain. Except that it seemed like...well, it didn't seem to be such a big deal at the time. I didn't mean any harm, really, but I guess... maybe... it was a bigger deal than I thought."

Sam whispered, with a touch of awe and perhaps even a little bit of fear, "Did he understand what was happening to him? Or was it like with Dash, or your Dad, when they don't remember anything afterward?"

That was something Danny hadn't considered until that moment. He thought back to what Tucker had said to him in the alley, about how he had felt totally helpless. And the night before, when he had emerged from his friend's body on Sam's doorstep, he hadn't noticed any of the momentary disorientation that had characterized his earlier experiences with Dash and his father. Finally Danny admitted, "I think maybe he did remember at least part of it. I know he didn't like it at all, that now he thinks I might just haul off and take him over whenever I want to, just to get my jollies. He said—" Danny hung his head miserably. "He said I was acting like a real ghost, like I don't even care about human beings."

"Well, that's not true!" she replied indignantly. "I'm sure you had a good reason—"

"Actually, no. I mean, it seemed like… well, I thought it was a good reason at the time. Or at least, I didn't think it would do any harm." He sighed. "I guess it's a lot less black-and-white than I thought it was."

She frowned. "What could you have possibly done with him to make him so angry at you? Was it something immoral? Or embarrassing? Or, you know... _icky_?"

"No! I mean, it was perfectly ordinary, except… it was something he didn't exactly want to do." He scrambled to think of a useful example. "I mean, how would you feel if I made you do something you wouldn't normally do? Like… I don't know… what if I were to take you over and then eat a Nasty Burger?"

"With _this_ mouth?"

"Yeah, exactly. You see, it's not inherently wrong, or icky, it's just not something you would ever want to do."

"We can debate the relative ickiness of a Nasty Burger later," she snapped. "In the mean time: you want to eat a burger, you can use your own mouth, Bub."

"Right."

"Wait a minute," Sam gasped. "Did you make Tucker eat a bowl of Brussels sprouts or something?"

"I—uh, no!" When had he lost control over this metaphor?

She grinned wickedly. "Because that might explain why he was running so fast."

Danny resisted the urge to laugh, giving Sam a withering stare instead. "Okay, forget that. Bad example. What if I made you do something that you _would_ enjoy doing, under the right circumstances? Like if I took you to see _Dead Teacher IV_, even though you would have rather seen _Terminatrix _instead. And maybe I made the decision for you, instead of letting you choose for yourself."

"I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much. And it sounds to me like you owe Tucker an apology, for the vegetables or the movie or whatever it is that you made him do that you don't want to talk about."

Danny reached again for the basket, but it was empty. Sam still had a few fries left on her napkin, which she was munching on delicately, but he had none—and his cup was empty except for the partially melted ice cubes that made a loud slurping sound as he drew mostly air through his straw.

"He's your best friend, Danny," Sam said wearily. "Go talk to him."

**Author's note:** I know, I know... this was supposed to be a one-shot. I hardly could have expected Danny to show up in my apartment, demanding the opportunity to apologize to Tucker, could I? He's one persistent ghost. I promised him I would continue the story only if he could come up with a sufficiently dramatic way to prove his sincerity, and eventually he did. So my one-shot is now a work-in-progress.

The Italian phrase '_sotto voce_' literally means 'under voice' and is ever so much quieter than a whisper. Sam practically would have had to lipread Danny's 'I did that to Tucker.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

A pre-algebra textbook sat open to page 93 on Tucker's desk, a cold bottle of root beer leaving a new ring among the Venn diagrams. But Tucker's attention was divided between slogging his way through level two of _Doomed_ and a question that had been nagging at him for weeks: why did the secret passage behind the Shaolin Temple in level three lead to a Mega-Mart? He had already searched every aisle of that virtual store for hidden Easter Eggs, dodging the warrior monks all the way, but had only succeeded in getting himself wasted by the heavily armed man behind the deli counter.

On the screen, Friar Tuck crouched behind some bushes while the first two semis roared across the Bridge of Doom. The timing here was tricky, but it was an old, familiar path for him. He counted silently, "Three, two, one," then tossed one of his precious grenades into the grille of the next truck, which skidded to a stop halfway across the bridge. He quickly dashed left, left, right... right, right, right... and jumped! The supply of power points he had saved up from previous rounds of play enabled him to leap to the top of the truck with ease, saving precious seconds and doubling his score as he snatched another power point from the clouds. Lesser players had to settle for darting between the mammoth trucks on the ground, a slower route that required a lot more skill.

It was a little frustrating, though, not being able to execute some of the more elaborate two-man moves he and Danny had worked out over the last few months of playing _Doomed_ as a team. Still, there was something to be said for the sense of accomplishment one gets from playing solo—

The phone rang just as Tucker was preparing to make his next leap, startling him just enough to throw off his timing by a fraction of a second. He still managed to reach the other side of the river of boiling lava, but he couldn't swing his weapon around fast enough to avoid being smoked by some pink-suited amateur with the username HappyPonyGrrrrl. Friar Tuck disappeared in a fizzle of static as the words "GAME OVER" flashed on the screen; Tucker quickly switched off the sound so he wouldn't have to listen to his opponent's annoying electronic giggle.

He pulled out his phone and glared at it, but it stubbornly kept ringing with Danny's distinctive ring tone. He changed his mind at least six times before the voice mail kicked in— _answer it, don't answer, answer, don't answer, talk to him, never talk to him ever again... _At the last second he changed his mind one more time and took the call.

"Yeah."

"Tucker?"

"Yeah."

"It's Danny."

"Yeah."

There was a brief silence, as though Danny were waiting for Tucker to say something more, something significant, something helpful. Eventually he gave up, cleared his throat and continued, "Where are you? Are you home right now? I need— I need to see you. I want to apologize, if you'll just let me."

"I'm home." His statement was flat and noncommittal; his voice offered no invitation, no welcome. He might as well have been reporting the price of canned peaches at the grocery store or the number of pens in his desk. There was another pregnant pause while Tucker stubbornly waited for Danny to say something.

"Are you in your room?"

"Yeah." He wondered how long he could keep this up. There was just a little bit of satisfaction in making these abrupt, inconsiderate answers. And he couldn't help but notice that ghostly echo in Danny's voice_. Figures, _he thought.

"Can I come in?"

There was something in the way he phrased that question that raised suspicion in Tucker's mind. He crossed over to the window and looked out into the backyard, knowing all too well what he would probably see there. And he was right: Danny was right outside in ghost form, floating among the branches of the old sycamore tree. He was about ten feet away from the house and level with the second floor, where he could be easily seen from Tucker's window while being shielded by dense foliage from anybody on the ground. Danny raised his eyebrows and tried to look sheepish, then spoke again into the phone.

"Can I come in?"

"Don't you mean, 'may I'?"

"Huh?"

Tucker snorted. "Of course you CAN come in, you always CAN come in, there's nothing I can do to stop you from coming in, is there? The question is, 'MAY I come in?' which you would know if you had been paying attention in English last week." Tucker continued the conversation by phone, even though he easily could have opened the window and just talked to his friend face-to-face. He left the window shut, but remained standing right where Danny could see him.

The young ghost rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay, then MAY I come in?"

"So when did you start asking permission?" Tucker glared at Danny through the glass, and was perversely glad to see him flinch. "That's not how it works. If I said 'no' you'd just come in anyway, wouldn't you? Like the whole world is your personal playground."

Danny bit back a retort and took a calming breath instead. "Look. I'm trying to apologize, here. I'll do it over the phone if you insist, but I'd much rather do it with both of us in the same room."

Tucker turned his back, but he didn't put down the phone.

"Okay, okay. May I come in... please?"

There was another long pause as Tucker silently argued with himself. He had to admit, there was something at least slightly satisfying in knowing that Danny was waiting outside, pretending for once to be constrained by the rules of etiquette instead of just barging in. 'May I come in, please?' was just too dainty to be believed. He savored the experience of making Danny wait and stew for a few more moments, and then sighed, resigned. "Yes. You may come in."

Danny phased through the wall just a few feet to Tucker's left. No sooner had his boots touched the floor than the brilliant-white spectral rings flashed out around his waist. Tucker felt, as he so often did, a fleeting sensation of intense curiosity mixed with secret envy as he watched his friend transform with the same casual ease that he might apply to combing his hair or tying his shoes. _Human. Ghost. Human. Ghost. _ Danny's new, dual existence was a deeply private mystery, an elusive, tantalizing treasure belonging to him alone. Tucker could only watch, and wonder, and endure.

Of course, none of this fruitless stream of thought intruded on Danny's preoccupied mind. He simply released his unearthly nature and stood in the middle of Tucker's room in his human form, momentarily bound by gravity, to all outward appearances a normal fourteen-year-old kid. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, averting his eyes from Tucker's gaze and biting his lower lip as he tried to appear humble and contrite. Tucker returned to his own chair, stalling for time by shutting down his computer, closing the math book and tidying up his desk a little more than was his usual practice. Danny squirmed silently as he waited for Tucker to finish, trying to remember everything he wanted to say.

Steeling his face, trying to remain calm and expressionless, Tucker brushed a few cookie crumbs into his wastebasket and then slowly turned his chair to face his friend.

"Okay. Go ahead, I'm listening."

Danny briefly made contact with Tucker's eyes, but quickly looked away. There was a coldness there, a solid wall of resentment and distrust that he could hardly bear to see. He cleared his throat nervously, then began.

"What happened last night—what I did to you—'I'm sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."

Tucker hesitated for a moment, then replied coldly, "No, it doesn't."

Danny nodded, eyes downcast. "But I _am_ sorry. What else can I say? I realize that I was way out of line, that what I did was wrong, that I shouldn't have done it. And I won't do it again."

Tucker listened gravely to his friend's recitation, but he wasn't ready to let go of his anger. The apology was proper in form, but it was too pat, too easy, too little and quite possibly too late. His mind reeled as he tried to come up with a suitably scathing retort, but the right words simply wouldn't come.

And while he scrambled to form a reply, Danny sat quietly on the bed and endured the silence. Finally he spoke again, desperate to bridge the harsh, bitterly cold void between them. "I've been thinking about this all day, ever since... I mean, when I ran into you this morning, at the Nasty Burger, I admit it—I didn't even realize there was a problem. I was thinking about how much it stinks that things didn't work out with Paulina, and about how glad I was that Sam made it to the dance after all, and how ironic it was that she ended up turning into a dragon, and I never, ever gave a moment's thought to how any of that affected you. And when you started yelling at me, I was totally blindsided."

"Well, excuse me for harshing your mellow," Tucker snapped.

"Will you let me finish!?"

"Right," he said, with a mockingly gracious wave of his hand. "Sorry. By all means, continue."

"Look. Like I said, I've been thinking about this ever since. And it's barely begun to sink in yet how wrong I was. That what I did to you... I just never thought... I mean, ever since I learned how to do this thing, I never even thought about whether it was right or fair to the people I was possessing—"

Tucker jumped in. "_Overshadowing_."

"Huh?"

"The preferred term for a ghost taking control of the body of a human is 'overshadow.'" He spoke patiently, as though he were quoting from a textbook. "People who study the paranormal stopped using the word 'possession' after _The__Exorcist_ came out back in 1973. Too many religious overtones."

Danny's eyes grew wide. "Oh."

"I did some research, I could provide references if you don't believe me. I even found an article your mom wrote back in 1995, and she used that term. _Overshadow,"_ he repeated with slight emphasis, poking at the sore spot as if he were checking to see whether the ache was still as bad as he remembered. "I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that there's no known defense against it," he added dryly.

Danny tried to ignore the sarcasm. "To be honest, it might be better if there was a way to defend against it. It shouldn't be that easy to do something like that to another person," he said glumly. "Now that I look back on it...it just shouldn't be so easy. When I... uh, _overshadow_ somebody, it's like, totally effortless. It's just as easy as phasing through a wall. In fact, when I took over Dash, back on Wednesday, it was almost like I was pulled in as soon as I touched him—like this is how it's supposed to work. Like it's the most natural thing in…."

His voice drifted away in mid-sentence, as he realized what he was saying. For a moment, he just let the thought hang there in the air between them, unfinished and unwanted, wishing he could take the words back. Tucker hesitated as well, too horrified to reply.

Finally, after an interminable silence, Danny whispered, "I didn't mean to say that."

Tucker swallowed, hard. "'Like it's the most natural thing in the world.' You are a ghost, after all. And that's what ghosts do."

"No. No! That's not what I meant. I just meant that it was just so easy to do that I wish there was some way for the other person to resist, to fight back. Because if there was, I might not have been so eager to do it. I might have slowed down and thought about what I was doing... thought that maybe the other person was fighting back for a reason. But it all seemed so harmless..."

"Didn't seem so harmless to me."

"Yeah." He hung his head, defeated. "I get that now."

"Even before you ... overshadowed me, I was resisting. Jeez, Danny, I said 'no,' didn't you hear me? I said 'no' a whole bunch of times, but you had already made up your mind."

For a moment Danny tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before. To be honest, he couldn't remember anything that Tucker had said once he made up his mind to use his new power. He remembered the sudden moment of clarity when he recognized the bitter longing in Sam's voice, knowing with absolute certainty that she wanted to be asked to the dance. He remembered the brief consideration he had given to standing up Paulina, quicky discarded because he knew that she must be kept happy at all costs as long as she wore the Amulet of Aragon. And then there was the simple, logical decision that Tucker would have to do what Danny himself could not.

But he couldn't remember hearing Tucker say 'no.'

"You know that old saying," Danny said with a sigh, "that when the only tool you have is a hammer, everything else starts to look like a nail?"

Tucker kept his eyes averted, with a fixed expression of grim resentment, but said nothing.

Danny continued, "Well… this 'overshadow' thing isn't the only tool I have, but it's new, and it's shiny, and… I hate to say it, but it's kind of fun to use. And it's as easy as breathing. Once I figured out how well it worked, I guess I was pretty eager to find some nails to use it on."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, of course not! I'm not trying to excuse what I did, I'm just trying to... I don't know. I'm trying to explain what happened. Because every time something happened for the last few days, my first thought was always, like, 'Let's see whether I can use my new power to solve this problem!' And most of the time it worked— well no, that's not really true." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought I was fixing problems, but the truth is, I was just creating more."

"You got that right."

Danny flopped down backwards on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he continued, "Like with my dad. I thought I was making things easier for both of us by not telling him about the parent-teacher conference. So I took him over to the school, and the next thing I know he's signed up to chaperone the dance. But he doesn't remember volunteering, much less having a conference with Lancer. And it just snowballed from there. Every time I overshadowed him, I ended up having to overshadow him again just to cover up what I'd done before."

"And instead of focusing your attention on fighting the dragon, you had to come rushing back to the dance to keep him away from Lancer." Tucker looked at him reproachfully. "You know, you can't keep this up until graduation. Sooner or later, he's going to have to meet him."

Danny rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, chuckling with bitter irony. "Yeah, I know. And believe it or not, it gets worse. When I came down to breakfast this morning, my parents were trying to decide whether Dad should go to the emergency room right away, or if he could wait to see his regular doctor on Monday."

"What for?"

"Oh, nothing! Just the honking big gaps in his memories over the last couple of days. Like the fact that he can't even remember dancing with Mom last night. Or agreeing to be a chaperone. Or going to a parent-teacher conference. He's going nuts with worry about it, and Mom is trying to stay calm but Jazz isn't being any help at all."

"Jazz...?"

"... is sitting there at the table with a medical reference book, listing all the possible causes for intermittent short-term amnesia. Epilepsy. Blunt-force trauma. Early-onset Alzheimer's. Brain tumor, for Pete's sake! And Dad's too upset to eat his chocolate-chip banana pancakes, and Mom's so distracted she sliced her finger trying to cut a cantaloupe, and Jazz is just prattling on and on about Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, and Multiple Personality Disorder, and all I can do is sit there and try to figure out how in the world I can fix this!?"

"First suggestion?" Tucker prompted. "Don't overshadow him any more. You've done enough damage already."

Danny sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'd just make things worse. And maybe if it doesn't happen again, and the doctor can't find anything wrong... Well, maybe it'll just blow over."

"That's probably the best you can hope for." Tucker chewed his lip for a moment, hesitating, but finally couldn't hold the thought to himself any more. "What I can't figure out, though is... why is it that I can remember everything, but he can't?"

Danny sat up, startled. "You... you can remember?"

"I can remember now. But I didn't at first. After you left me standing outside Sam's house, I was angry for a minute, but pretty much right away I started to feel confused about what had happened. Like I didn't know how I got there, but I knew I had to deal with the new reality even if it didn't quite make sense." He paused for a moment to close his eyes and gently rub his temples with his fingertips, as if banishing a mild headache. "But then this morning, when I talked to Valerie, the contradictions started to erupt all over the place. And when I saw you, suddenly I could remember all of it."

"All of it?"

"All of it." He shot his friend a reproachful glare. "Every awful, nauseating, interminable second of it."

Tucker's cold, judgmental words left Danny in a cold sweat. All along, he had thought that his overshadowing power was just a matter of leaving his hosts with a few minutes missing from their day and an odd blank spot in their memories. A frisson of horror crawled down his spine as he whispered, "Tell me."

ooooo0ooooo

Author's Note: This is the third chapter of four, with an epilogue to follow. Feedback, both kind and critical, is deeply welcome.

Many thanks to my beta readers, Obi-Quiet and JH24!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Well, you went invisible first, so I didn't see anything—but I felt it." Tucker shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and touched the fingertips of his right hand to the center of his chest. "I felt _you_. Right here. At first it was like getting slapped with something cold and wet, except then it just slipped inside. And that cold feeling kept coming, and coming, until there was just a skinny, wiggly _something_ slurping through my skin, and I…." He wrinkled his nose with an expression of mild disgust. "I think that may have been your tail."

"You actually felt that?"

"Yeah. But it didn't stop there. For just a split second there was this icy heaviness inside my chest, and then you started expanding. I could feel you spreading down my legs, out into my arms, flowing up through my neck into my head. And even though I know it probably didn't take more than a second or two, it seemed like a lot longer. I mean, first my jaw, and then my lips and tongue, and then my cheeks and my nose and… I even think I could feel the exact moment my eyes changed color. It was like, they were cold and hot at the same time."

"Yeah, that's sort of what it feels like." Danny spoke softly, mesmerized by Tucker's detailed description of the experience. He wondered briefly whether Dash and his father had gone through the same thing, but had blocked the disturbing memory to avoid having to deal with it. He could only hope that the block would be permanent, that Tucker's restored memory was due only to the fact that he knew what had been done to him, and who was responsible.

Tucker's voice grew flat and distant as he continued the story. "I remember… you looked down at my hands and wiggled my fingers, kind of like you were trying on a new pair of gloves. Then you walked over to the mirror and looked at me and smiled, and you straightened my tie and said, 'Trust me, Tuck, I know what I'm doing.' And it was my mouth moving, but your voice coming out."

There was a moment of heavy silence between them. Danny raised his eyes to meet Tucker's dead stare, but couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Have you ever had a nightmare when you had to run away from some horrible danger, but suddenly you were completely paralyzed?" Tucker asked. "And you opened your mouth and found out that you couldn't even scream?"

Danny nodded.

"That's what it was like. I was struggling and resisting and fighting you every inch of the way from your house to Sam's—but you never felt a thing. Good grief, Danny, for a while there you were _whistling_. I was going out of my mind and you were having fun."

"I can't imagine—"

"No, of course you can't!" Tucker jumped to his feet, his sullen passivity suddenly turned to rage. Startled, Danny tensed and leaned back a little on the bed, as if preparing to avoid a physical attack that did not come. "You get to have the fun, happy-go-lucky side of that memory! You're the one with the powers—you'll never know what it feels like to be _used_ like that!"

And that was the crux of the matter. In making that one foolish decision, Danny had upset the precious balance in their friendship, built up over a lifetime of shared adventures. They had always borne griefs together, celebrated successes together, endured torments together. But now there was something terrible hanging between them, something that could not be shared, could not be fixed: he had made Tucker his victim. Danny wished with fervent despair that he could magically jump back twenty-four hours and do it all again, do it right, make it so Tucker would never have to live through that.

"I'm so sorry." Even in Danny's own ears, it sounded pitifully inadequate.

"Yeah, yeah, you're sorry. You said that already. And I know I should try really hard to forgive you. But what I can't do is _forget_. I'm stuck with this memory! And the worst part isn't that it happened, it's not even the way you messed things up between me and Valerie. The worst part is knowing it could happen again, any time you want, and there's still nothing I could do to stop you!"

"It won't! Tucker, I swear it won't happen again."

"I wish I could believe you," he said bitterly.

"It's the truth!"

Tucker just stood there, deflated, and shook his head sadly. "Will you just go away? Yes, yes, I accept your apology, but I don't want you here right now. I can't— Oh please, just go away!"

For a moment Danny just sat there, desperately wanting to keep the conversation going, to find the path back to that comfortable companionship that they had always enjoyed. But Tucker's hostility stood like a stone wall between them. Danny glanced over his shoulder at the wall where he had phased into the room just a few minutes earlier, but some wise instinct told him to make his retreat on foot instead. He mumbled one more, "I'm so sorry," then headed for the door and slipped out, leaving Tucker alone in his room.

He moved as quietly as he could manage on the stairs, keeping one ear tuned to Tucker's mom, who was humming loudly as she bustled around in the kitchen, working on something that smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. Since she hadn't seen him arrive, he didn't want to have to explain how he got there or why he was leaving. At the foot of the stairs he faded from sight, then floated silently across the living room and through the front door.

During the long, lonely walk home he kept his eyes peeled for danger, wishing with all his might that some unlucky ghost would be foolish enough to attack. More than anything he wanted to transform and take to the cool autumn sky, to use his powers with wild abandon, to hit and kick and punch and fight with every ounce of his superior strength, to lash out with anger and frustration and perverse joy at something that was NOT a human, that was NOT his friend. More than anything, he wanted to put the universe back in its proper order, where pretty girls did not turn into dragons and loyal friends didn't have to be afraid.

Unfortunately, no ghost made the mistake of crossing Danny's path on that particular afternoon. The walk home was distressingly uneventful. Along the way he tried to imagine what the previous night's journey across town to Sam's house had been like for Tucker, trapped helplessly inside his own body with no way to cry for help or beg for mercy.

His parents were down in the lab when he got home; he could hear them banging on something large and metal and probably dangerous. He wandered into the kitchen to grab a snack, and saw Jazz's medical reference book on the table next to a bottle of extra-strength aspirin and a sticky note that said 'CALL DR WALSH ASAP MONDAY.'

Suddenly he didn't have so much of an appetite. He trudged upstairs and spent most of the next hour trying to make sense of his homework. Venn diagrams. _Ugh_. Math was always torture no matter what kind of mood he was in, and despite his best efforts to stay focused his mind wouldn't stop reeling with recriminations and self-doubt, mistakes made and opportunities missed, random snatches of his conversation with Tucker and regretted memories of the night before. Little distractions kept creeping into the corners of his attention: music to download, blogs to check, and a couple of messages from Sam with the subject lines 'everything ok?' and 'SO WHAT HAPPND?????' He closed both messages without reading them, and his eyes lit briefly on the skull-shaped icon in the corner of the desktop.

_Doomed._

It suddenly dawned on him that Tucker had been playing _Doomed_ in his room earlier—the "GAME OVER" message had been flashing on the screen before Tucker had shut his computer down. Danny realized with a start that he must have been playing solo. That knocked him for a loop, because _Doomed_ was a game they always played together. _Always._ The game provided a safe, predictable environment where they could kick back and kick butt without having to put their lives on the line. And it was a place where they were equally strong, equally skilled, equally equipped, where it didn't matter which one of them had ghost powers and which one didn't.

And when things weren't exactly equal, as they invariably weren't, their divergent strengths tended to reinforce and enhance their teamwork. Danny was a natural tactician, Tucker was a genius with technology. Tucker was better at locating cheat codes, but Danny was a better shot. In games, in sports, in school, they shared everything and helped each other get by, in an endless spiral of reciprocity and mutual support stretching all the way back to when they first discovered the see-saw in kindergarten. _Best friends since forever._ Even Sam, who joined them in the second grade, didn't share that particular distinction.

All you need to know, you learned in kindergarten—or so they say. If I knock over your stack of blocks, you knock over mine. You mess with my Play-Doh, I mess with your finger paints. I take one of your cookies, you're entitled to a piece of my brownie. You hit me, I hit you back. I overshadow you... But of course, that's where it all fell apart.

_Or did it...?_

Danny grabbed the phone and quickly dialed Tucker's number. His friend picked up on the fifth ring, and said wearily, "Yeah?"

"Tucker!" he said breathlessly. "I need to come over. Right now. Can I— I mean _may_ I come over?"

"Danny, I—"

"Please! It's important. I need to talk to you, please don't say no."

There was a pause while he thought he could hear footsteps, and then Tucker asked suspiciously, "Where are you, anyway?"

"I'm at home. Please?"

Another pause, more footsteps, a loud sigh. "Yeah. Come on over."

Danny transformed in a flash of light and was airborne before Tucker could even hang up the phone. Along the way across town he couldn't help but execute a series of loops, exulting in the sheer freedom of flight. But even a broken clock is right twice a day, and Danny had the good sense to touch down and transform back to human in an empty lot about a block away from the Foleys', and go the rest of the way on foot. He rang the doorbell and fidgeted nervously while he waited for someone to answer the door.

"Danny!" Mrs. Foley seemed happy to see him. "I was wondering where you've been all day. Come on in, Tucker's upstairs."

He was up the stairs like a shot, but skidded to a stop in front of Tucker's closed door, where he took a couple of quick, calming breaths, then knocked twice. "Tuck?"

"Come on in," he heard through the door, muffled. Tucker didn't sound too enthusiastic, but at this point Danny was willing to take whatever he could get.

Tucker was sitting at his desk, just like before; apparently he had been working on the same stupid math assignment that Danny had been struggling with at home. Something else they could have shared, if not for the barrier between them. But Danny was determined to fix things. He sat down on the bed, nervously cleared his throat, and began.

"Okay. I've been thinking about this, and I think I have a solution."

"You think you have a solution? A solution to what?"

"How to fix this. How to make it right between us."

Tucker rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, you apologized already. And I accept your apology. Okay? I just don't want to be around you right now." He shook his head, deliberately avoiding Danny's eyes. "Why can't you understand that? Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"But that's the problem, don't you see? I don't want to just leave you alone. We're friends, and friends do things together. We do homework together. We play _Doomed_ together. We go to movies together, we hang out together, we even fight ghosts together. And yeah, I messed that all up. But you're my best friend since forever, and I know it's not enough for me to just say 'I'm sorry.' I have to make it right."

"Yeah. Well I appreciate that you want to do that, but we both know it's not possible. Can't make it right for your dad, can't make it right for me. Thank you for playing, better luck next ti—"

"Will you just listen to me?" Danny jumped to his feet, bursting with eager frustration. "It's not about the apology. It's about what you said—that I'll never know what it feels like to be used like that." He couldn't help but notice Tucker's faint shudder at the word 'used,' and quickly lowered his tone. "Please, Tucker, I know what I'm doing. Just give me a chance, okay?"

Tucker hesitated, just long enough to give Danny a glimpse of hope. He shook his head sadly, but said, "Go ahead. Make your case."

It wasn't much more than a tiny crack in the wall, but Danny knew he couldn't have hoped for much more. Not yet. He had to make his case, prove his sincerity. He had to balance the scales.

"Here's the deal." Danny sat back down, took a deep breath, then released it slowly before continuing. "One time and one time only, at a time of your own choosing, you get to tell me to do something. And no matter what it is, no matter how difficult or inconvenient or embarrassing, no matter how much I don't want to do it, I'll do it anyway. I can't— I mean, I know it's not exactly the same thing as letting you overshadow me, but under the circumstances it's the best I can do."

Tucker just stared, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

Danny squared his shoulders and repeated solemnly, "You name it, I do it."

"Once?"

"Once. To balance out what I did to you yesterday."

"Whenever I want?"

"Right. Because I didn't give you a choice—and I didn't even give you a chance to call Valerie and tell her you weren't coming. No warning, no excuses, no mercy. Whenever you want."

"So… if I ordered you to scrub my bathroom floor?"

"I would do it."

"Or if I told you to… oh, I don't know, run naked through the Nasty Burger at lunchtime on a Saturday?"

Danny's eyes widened with alarm. But he controlled his panic, gathered up his dignity and said, "I would do it."

Tucker nodded slightly while he formulated his next question. It was hard to come up with the right words, the right phrasing, to find out what he wanted to know. "What if I... ordered you to turn into Danny Phantom right in front of the whole school?"

Even as he asked the question, Tucker observed Danny's face in almost clinical detail, carefully noting the shadows of expressions that flickered there: the twitch of an eyelid, the clench of his jaw, a dry swallow, a rapid series of blinks. There was a nearly unbearable silence in the room, punctuated only by the ticking clock on the wall, an occasional 'bleep' from one of the gadgets on the desk and the rumble of passing traffic outside.

The interminable silence was no picnic for Tucker, either. Without even realizing it, he had begun to match his breathing to Danny's; his heart was pounding and he could feel his pulse in his fingertips where he clutched the arms of the chair. He watched silently as Danny lowered his eyes and drooped his head forward in defeat.

His voice came out in a raw whisper. "Is that what you want me to do?"

It was a struggle, but Tucker managed to keep his voice flat and emotionless. "I'm just trying to find out where the limits are."

Danny sagged, like a beach toy with a slow leak, and stared bleakly at the his feet while he struggled to form his answer. Another twenty seconds ticked loudly by before he spoke. "This morning you said you thought I might… 'play games' with your body any time I got a whim. I promise you, that will never happen. Never. And I wasn't playing a game yesterday, although I understand that it might have seemed that way to you. I was trying to do something for Sam, and I forced you to help. It was wrong, I shouldn't have done it. But it was not a game." He looked up at Tucker, his eyes pleading. "Not a game. Do you understand what I'm saying?

"I understand."

Danny nodded gravely. "I used you, I didn't listen to you, and I didn't think about how my actions would affect you. And like you said, there was nothing you could do to stop me from forcing you to do whatever I wanted you to."

"Right."

"Because of that—because of all of that—there are no restrictions on my offer. No limits. I'll just have to trust you. Because we have to trust each other, don't we? Or what's the point of being friends?"

At that exact moment, Tucker began to understand the magnitude of what Danny had offered him. It wasn't a ghost power, but it was _power_. Danny had put himself at Tucker's mercy and trusted that he wouldn't abuse that power. For a fleeting moment he considered whether it would be worth it to take advantage, to design a devastating penalty, severe enough to not only balance the damage that had been done the night before, but to make Danny sorry he had ever tried it. Revenge would be so sweet!

Danny fidgeted nervously while Tucker pondered. He could only imagine what wild, wicked ideas might be swirling through Tucker's mind at that moment, and dread the outcome. And yet, he endured that fear and discomfort willingly, finally able to comprehend at some primal level exactly what he had put Tucker through.

_Vulnerable. Helpless. _

_Weak._

Somehow, Tucker's usually vivid imagination couldn't quite conjure the punishment that would adequately balance the crime. And the more he thought about it, the more wild scenarios of terrible, raw revenge he considered, the more uncomfortable he felt. Danny just sat there, meekly waiting for judgment, and Tucker couldn't bring himself to pronounce the sentence. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "You don't have to do this. You don't—Danny, I don't want this. I don't _need_ this. You apologized, and I accept your apology. You said you won't do it again, and I believe you. That's enough for me. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do!" Danny insisted. He shook his head, frustrated, almost irritated at Tucker's impulsive generosity. "I messed up yesterday. I treated you like... like a guy shouldn't treat his worst enemy. I abused my powers and I—"

"Danny—"

"No, let me say this! I abused my powers and I abused my best friend. Don't you see? _I have to do this_. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

"But I don't want—"

"Don't say that! Not now. Just... just keep it. Save it for some other time. It doesn't have to be today, does it? My offer stands, as long as it takes, and when you know what you want me to do, you just tell me and I'll do it."

"You _want_ to have this hanging over your head?"

"You tell me it's not hanging over _yours_?"

That made Tucker stop and think. As much as he was willing to believe Danny's promise, he knew that the threat of overshadowing would remain as small piece of pain in their relationship for a very long time. And there was already so much pain. If only he could forget...

"I'm not the only one you used," he said quietly. "I'm just the only one who remembers."

"That's true," Danny admitted.

"Then I know what I want you to do."

ooooo0ooooo

Stay tuned for the epilogue, coming in a day or two!


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Late Monday afternoon, after the final bell had rung and the Casper High students had scattered to the four winds, Jack Fenton entered the Vice Principal's office and took a seat in the hard wooden chair across from a man he had never met—although he did seem a little familiar. Perhaps he had been in the gymnasium Friday night; the lights had been dim, and Jack's memories of the previous week were still alarmingly muddled.

"Thank you for coming to discuss you son's schooling, Mr. Fenton," the teacher began. "I must apologize for having to cancel our meeting last week, and I thank you for agreeing to reschedule on such short notice."

Having never met the man, Jack had no way of knowing that Mr. Lancer's voice was sounding nearly an octave higher than his usual nasal bass, or that the teacher's eyes were not normally such an intensely vivid shade of green. For that matter, Jack still couldn't quite remember there ever being earlier appointment, although he was oddly comforted to hear the teacher mention the postponement. His tattered patchwork of half-perceived memories rearranged themselves neatly to accommodate this new information.

"Well, sure!" he replied with relief, suddenly feeling more cheerful than he had in days. "I'm a parent, and that's what parents do. I've never missed a parent-teacher conference for either one of my kids, and I'm certainly not going to start missing them now!" His eyes narrowed with suspicion "Has there been a problem?"

"W— well... ." Danny stammered slightly, finding it extremely difficult to stay in character and maintain eye contact with his father. He was sorely tempted to steer the conversation in a safe direction, but Tucker's instructions had been painfully specific. He sure knew how to make a guy squirm! Danny drew a slow, calming breath and continued, "There were a couple of incidents with his _pants_... ."


End file.
